The Horn Of Mirkwood
by Caradoc
Summary: Morgoth Returns! Chpt. 3 Uploaded! Rated PG 13 ...please review!
1. Default Chapter

I own nothing Lord Of the Rings, except the books, wi did not write, but Iimmensly enjoyed reading. THe only things that are mine are Elvaldur, Bazli, and my own ideas. Thank you, J.R.R. Tolekien :-)  
  
Prologue: Many winters have passed since the glory days, fair-haired Hobbits, Sauron wiped from Middle-Earth. Those days have passed now. With man was intoxicated with freedom, Hobbits and Dwarves nearly wiped from Middle-Earth. Immense power was give to a boy...Roklem, Melkor....Morgoth..The one so evil Evles cannot see, even Men look down upon, the onto an Orc looks like a cousin, to a Uruk-hai, a brother. He resides in his mountain fortress of Armarth, Elvish for doom. And rightly so. You fear the horns of the fortress, for that means Death. But out of the inky blackness, there arises a hero. Elvaldur, the dark light, an Aelfborn. Man, but Elf. Magic tatooes cover him to keep him from going mad over the immense knowledge of the Elves. He is our last hope, an Aelfborn on the brink of madness...  
  
Chapter 1  
  
It has been many years since the Darkness came to us. Again. None remember the days of Sauron, servent of Morgoth, Melkor. None remember farther into the past, Of the first Elves, of the first Men. But I do. That is my duty towards Arwen, our Queen. It is my job to Remember...and to survive. None remember the fall of Sauron, he has erased it from our memories. Except one. Me. None remember the village boy Roklem, the blacksmith's apprentice, who saw the Royals unclothed. The boy who was there on accident, who had his eyes removed. None remember the boy, who became a man rotting in prison, rats eating the flesh where his eyes used to be. None remember the years passing as the boy talked to himself, thnking he was talking to Morgoth. None remember the boy undergoing a 'divine' transformation, recieving Morgoth into him daily. None remember the boy who escaped, a curious hole burned into the reinforced prison wall, leaving nothing but a foul smelling red liquid that burned your skin if you touched it. None remember the long-abandoned mountian fortress of Armath suddenly teeming with occupants, Orcs, Uruk-hai, and a new breed of Dread beast, not seen for hundreds of years: Balrogs, multiplied. None remember darkness sweeping the land, killing all plants. It is Night permanently. None remember scores of Hobbits and Dwarves suddenly gone. They only know Death, to fear the horns of Armath. None remember, except me.   
  
Elvaldur stood on a mountain ridge in the far North- where the snow was still pristine, and daylight still shined through. He looked down at the now-black snow, examining it closely. The darkness was approaching the North. Hardly any know of the scores of Dwarves and Elves there, it is a secret that few know about, yet it shall not be a secret soon. Orcs have been sighted in the moutains, they can be heard at night, calling to each other as they climb the mountains. Elvaldur's raven-black hair flew out behind him; the wind had picked up. His widow's peak was visible as he pulled back his hair into a long ponytail, as he usually did. Most of his face was covered with intricate tatoos, like a Maori mask. They blackened his pristine, pale skin, keeping him inches from madness. Elvaldur was an Aelfborn, son of Elf and Man. He knew how to handle both both and sword, he was infintely wise, but infinetly mortal. It were these differneces between Man and Elf that would cause him to descend into madness if he did not have his tatoos. Elvaldur eventually moved on, slightly troubled by the black snow. He wasn't unaware of Morgoth, for he had forced him to move. Elvaldur was Legolas Greenleaf's half brother, abandoned as a child in the East with the barbarians. They had taught him to fight, they had given him tatoos. Mirkwood was his, he carried the Horn of Mirkwood, which, if blown by the heir, would draw all Races to war. He fingered the ancient carvings on the horn, not knowing what they meant; Elvaldur could not read Elvish, yet knew his name meant 'the dark light'. He mounted a pony, his feet almost touching the ground. Elvaldur headed down the mountain towards the small village, a sense of dread in his heart. He, as most did, knew that the Darkness would come soon.  
  
Bazli sat in the village, tending the fire, a light layer of snow covering him. He looked at the ground as he recieved a vision, his violet eyes tearing up as he recieved it. He would not tell Elvaldur of what he saw, he never did. The 15 year old had seen Morgoth again, without the cloak, the red, catlike eyes coming from the darkness, the 'blessed' index finger makign acid out of stone. It was that digit that was the most feared finger in Middle-earth. The magical finger could reduce a stone wall into a vile smelling, acidic, red liquid. Not to mention what it could do to a human or Elf. Morgoth was quite short to be feared, skinny, his grey, mottled skin looking like mossy stone, ribs poking out. Morgoth never ate, nor slept. He was inhuman, a 5 foot tall demon. The thin layer of skin covered nothing, it seemed, every bone was visible, hardly any muscle. But who needs muscle when you have magic? Who needs muscle when you are at the command of all the ORcs, Uruk-hai, Balrogs, giants, trolls, and other Fell beasts?Bazli closed his eyes, drifitng off to welcome, yet unrestful sleep, as the Shadow crept over the land, turning snow black, giving Orcs a home.... 


	2. Chapter Two

Chapter 2  
  
Manwë sat atop his throne, in the moutains of Valinor, forever watching Middle-earth...his father's creation. But, his eyes surely were failing him now. He could not see past the great, dark cloud. He told no one of this, dismissing it as just a trick of the eyes. Surely there could not be another Shadow...He had been able to see the North throughout this..but no longer. This troubled him, yet he told no one. Sauron could not be back...nothing could bring back Morgoth...Or so he thought. All the Elves except for a few hundred had passed through the veil into Valinor...no more would come. The only way he could find out would be to send someone...  
  
Manwë's train of thught was broken as he realized Gandalf the White was bowing at his feet. Manwë spoke, the air feeling and smelling like a warm spring day. "Ah, Gandalf! What brings you here?" Gandalf stood up, his blue eyes young again. "You speak rhetorically. You know why I am here. Look into the East." Manwë disregarded this "Gandalf, you speak foolishly. There is nothing to be seen in the East." Gandalf's eyes turned serious. "Darkness is there, Manwë. You know this. You know who is to blame for the Darkness. At least your eyes could penetrate Sauron's veil..." The warm spring air seemed to be sucked from the throne room atop the mountain like a vacuum. "He is not back, Gandalf. He was destroyed...all those years ago...he couldn't be back...." Gandalf sighed "Manwë, you know he is back. iMorgoth/i has returned. The air turned cold. "No...He couldnt be...." Manwë's hand shook. "He'll destroy it! We haven't a chance.....he'll come to Valinor.....keep his promise......." Manwë collapsed into his throne "We have no Elves to command anymore...Man wont listen...." Gandalf stood tall "Send me." Manwë looked up, his eyes stricken with fear "Go, Gandalf. Go and save us." Gandalf turned on a heel, leaving Manwë's throne, as Manwë sat slumped on it, head in hands, sobbing. For the first time, it began to rain in Valinor, the sky turning dark.  
  
Morgoth sat atop his throne in Armath, relishing the darkness around him, the smell of brimstone in the air. The clinking of hammers molding swords could be heard, along with the cries of Orcs. Morgoth was preparing an army. He had Seen an uprising in the imminent future. The Dark Tower had long een abandoned, it now was a crumbling ruin of black stone. Morgoth had chosen Armath for his home, a mountain once surrounded by forest, once a home of Elves. Now it was black stone, an monolith standing tall, Minas Tirith barely visible in the darkness, reducing the Mountains of Shadow surrounding Mordor to hills. The mountain had sprung up from the bowles of the earth soon after Morgoth fell, for the first time. Morgoth ran his small, black tongue along his teeth, drawing blood, which ran black, evaporating into a black mist when it hit the ground. His elongated index finger, more like a claw, stood out among the blackness, the darkest of red. His other fingers were claws, making clicking sounds as they met stone. His slitlike red eyes were very large in comparison to his head. Had he not been Morgoth, it would almost be comical. Except Morgoth meant Death, the most eternal of punishments. The only punishment that Morgoth ever gave out. Morgoth laughed harshly as he was lost in his daydreams in the eternal Night, now he would kill, maim, destroy, when the uprising came.   
  
Elvaldur thought he woke up early that day, opening his eyes only to see nothing; just blackness. Opressive blackness. It seemed to press on his chest, making it hard to breath. Only then did he realize what had happened. Darkness had fallen. He smelled the burning of wood, of iflesh/i. Elvaldur jumped out of his tent, staggering in the knee deep black snow. Most of his camp was a smoldering ruin, women screaming, men sobbing, children silent. His tent had blocked out most of the noise, and Elvaldur cursed the tent material. He Walked among the ruins of the tent, men, women, and a few children solemnly following the somber parade as Elvaldur examind the ruins in the Darkness. He turned around, looking at his party, about 40 men, 20 women, and about 5 children. He snarled "Gather your supplies. Armor, swords, arrows, whatever. We move in two hours." A pair of violet eyes looked at Elvaldur from the darkness,reflecting what little light was left. Elvaldur's own yellow eyes avoided the careful gaze, which seemed to penetrate his soul. He remained looking at the ground for two hours as he donned his silver Elven armor, sheathing a long sword, 5 daggers, and 2 knives. On his back was an ornate bow, protected by an even more ornate shield. He stepped out, boots cruncing against the permafrost, the shiny metal frosting a bit. He mounted his horse, one of the only ones left. He clicked his tongue, and the small party of people, with grungy armor, a few tinder dry wagons filled with supplies creaked long as they slowly walked towards the South, heading for warmer lands. The North would become a wasteland now, devoid of life except for Orcs. Elvaldur fingered the Horn of Mirkwood as they silently wound along the mountain paths, the only sound the coughing of men, the creaking of the wheels. 


	3. Chapter III

Chapter 3   
  
The wheels creaked along the path, into the grey snow, the party's personality matching the twilight gray around them. The only sound that could be heard for a long while was the creaking of wheels, the coughing of men, babies crying, and mothers shushing them. A scout ran to the party, breathless. He panted to Elvaldur "Orcs....Uruk hai....along the next ridge...." Elvaldur furrowed his brow, brooding. The party stopped. Elvaldur looked up, brow smooth once again. "What's wrong with you, fools? Keep going, we're not going to get scared by a couple of Orcs." Elvaldur said this a bit too loudly, his voice shaking ever so slightly. He knew it was more than a couple of Orcs...it was probably 5 score or even more, sent to invade the mountains. Elvaldur was the only one who had seen that many Orcs, and knew his men would be too weary. He stopped again, asking the scout beside him, "How much extra armour and weapons do we have?" The scout closed his eyes, thinking. "Oh....about enough for 30 men." Elvaldur pondered this, calling out "Any women or boys who want to fight for their people, get armour and swords. Now."He started off again.   
  
As Bazli suited up, he had the strong feeling of dread. The party had now come to the ridge, where a small line of Orcs could be seen. Both parties stopped in mid-stride as they examined each other. The men nd women lined up in a ragtag front line as they went down the slope, stopping about 3/4 of the way down, as the Orcs ran up the slope. Bazli stood on the front line, as he was gripped with a Vision. He threw down his weapon, and ran up the slope, falling in the snow, heading towards the rest of the fighters, women, and children. "THEY'RE IN THE SNOW! THEY'RE IN THE SN-" Bazli was cut off as a man punched him with a gauntleted hand, knocking him out cold. Orcs and Uruk-hai raised up from the snow, surrounding the party, hissing. They charged.   
  
Elvaldur screamed, kicking his horse hard in the side, running down the slope towards the Orcs, long Mirkwood blade held in front of him, decapitating several Orcs before he jumped off his horse, spinning around three times before landing on the ground, his blade going straight through a Uruk-hai. One of the horses attached to a wagon became terrified as a flaming arrow hit the wagon, made of tinder-dry wood and food. The horse and wagon, now consumed by flames ran down the slope, unable to stop. The flaming wagon swung around, hitting five men before it and the horse lay on the ground. Elvaldur watched his men dying, and stopped everything, just staring. A long, black, fearsome lookigng arrow hit him in the side, as an Elf, clothed all in black came out of the darkness, smiling, pale face visible in sharp contrast to the black of his cloak. The Elf spoke "Ah...Elvaldur....we meet again, though I am sad to say this time in less....desirable conditons." Elvaldur's face was stricken, as he realized who it was. Maeglin, his own brother. Elvaldur looked at his brother, screaming "FLESH OF MY FLESH, YET TRAITOR TO MY BLOOD. SON OF MORGOTH, SON OF DARKNESS BE GONE. MAY LIGHT FILL YOUR LIFE ALL THE DAYS OF YOUR ENDLESS LIFE!" A slight breeze picked up around Maeglin as Elvaldur spoke these words, the Darkness lifting a bit. Elvaldur then babbled mindlessly in Elvish, as Maeglin punched him, knocking him out. Maeglin smiled as he raised his sword, but another black arrow struck him in the side. Maeglin's eyes widened, as his head rolled off his neck. A woman, with long, greasy, dark hair stood where Maeglin stood, tatooes covering half of her face. She picked Elvaldur up with incredible ease, saying a few words in Elvish, rousing him. She spoke in a soft voice. "I am Larien of Nagothrond, Aelfborn as well." Elvaldur groaned, and slipped back into unconciousness. She put Elvaldur down in a grotto in the rocks, and went to fight. As the Orcs, Uruk-hai, and Elves began to leave, a Dark Elf picked up the unconcious form of Bazli, smiling to herself. She walked into the darkness, joining the Orcs and Uruk-hai, singing a drinking song in Orcish.   
  
Many hours later, Elvaldur stood up, groaning. The Orcs and Uruk-hai were gone, and so were many of his men. Only 10 survived, along with the Aelfborn woman, Larien. The party started off to the South again, without another word. Tears stained all of their cheeks. 


End file.
